Phealafarian Frontiers: 13: Whispers of Timberwood
The morning mist hung low over the encampment, curling through the trees and tents with an almost watchful stillness. As the party stirred from their rest, Thomas, Eldrin, and Erisa stepped into the sunlight and immediately felt its warmth on their skin. It should have been comforting—but instead, a cold worry settled in their stomachs. The light felt too good, too clean. A nagging concern crept into their minds: had they already fallen under the same strange affliction that had turned the villagers into trees?
After a brief, wordless exchange of concerned glances, the group gathered their gear and made their way back into the heart of Timberwood, the once-thriving village now eerily silent. The weight of unnatural stillness settled on their shoulders like a heavy shroud. It was time to uncover the truth.
Tobias & Erisa – The Broken Log Tavern
Tobias and Erisa made their way to the old tavern, its sign hanging crookedly and creaking in the faint breeze. Inside, the scene was haunting: full-grown trees stood where patrons once drank and laughed. One tree loomed behind the bar, its wide trunk pressing awkwardly against what remained of the counter, as though serving drinks was now part of its long-forgotten routine. The tavern had been thoroughly ransacked—likely by the same bandits the group had fought the day before, or perhaps others who had taken advantage of the village’s fall.
Tobias climbed the stairs to the inn rooms, his boots creaking across the splintered boards. In one room, he found another tree—this one standing solemnly before a desk, its roots piercing through the floorboards like fingers clutching the earth. Meanwhile, Erisa investigated the main hall, where she discovered a faded, weather-worn journal resting in the arms of a tree-like figure. Its contents were troubling:
“I can hear them whispering now. Not people—the trees. They know what we’ve done. The adventurers went into the forest yesterday and haven’t come back. I begged Odric to stop anyone else from leaving, but he wouldn’t listen. We all know where the burial site is—it’s been marked in memory since the first settlers arrived. The markers should have kept people away, but now they’re gone. I must go before it’s too late. If only I could remember that blasted poem… The Giant’s Last Walk! That’s it! They must have a copy in the town hall.”
With this ominous new clue in hand, Tobias and Erisa shared a tense glance and left the tavern to regroup.
Thomas & Tosk – The Lumber Mill
Across the river, Thomas and Tosk explored the lumber mill and yard. Tosk was immediately on edge, his gaze flicking over the stacked logs with barely contained suspicion. To him, the neat piles of timber resembled corpses more than construction material. “They’re people,” he muttered, wide-eyed. “All of them. They’ve been turned into logs. This whole place is a slaughterhouse.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow but said nothing at first. Inside the mill, they found the telltale signs of sudden abandonment—tools left half-used, sawdust undisturbed, and most unsettling of all, several trees now stood in place of workers. One gnarled trunk leaned near a powered sawblade, the air around it thick with tension.
Opening the windows to let in some natural light, Thomas was startled when a breeze kicked up and dislodged a sheet of parchment from a high shelf. It fluttered to his feet, and he bent to read:
“We’ve started finding trees where none were before. Middle of the old pathways, growing inside cleared plots, even between rows of our lumber stacks. They’re just… there. No signs of planting, no saplings, just full-grown oaks and pines. It’s like the woods are watching. Harvin says it’s nothing, but the men are spooked. So am I.”
Meanwhile, Tosk wandered through the lumber yard, muttering to himself and inspecting the log piles like a detective at a crime scene. In the office at the back, he found yet another tree seated at a desk, and a bundle of papers nearby. One was signed by Harvin:
“Something is wrong. The trees near the northern sector feel… off. We marked the safe zones decades ago, yet the loggers swear the boundary stones are missing. Liora says she saw someone or something moving in the woods at dusk, but I think the men are just seeing shadows. If this keeps up, we’ll have to halt work. I’ll send a few men to investigate tomorrow.”
Thomas and Tosk regrouped, exchanging wary looks as they made their way back.
Guardian & Eldrin – The Southern Farmlands
To the south, Guardian and Eldrin wandered into the farmlands. A lone sheep grazed happily beside a tree in a sunlit crop field, seemingly unaware of the village’s fate. The strange tranquility was deeply unsettling.
Guardian knelt and opened his grimoire—though Eldrin, glancing over his shoulder, noted the title read “1001 Shayz-Wharen Recipes for Snails.” Nonetheless, Guardian began ritual casting Speak with Animals, ignoring the occasional nuzzle from the sheep and Eldrin’s bemused commentary.
Ten minutes later, Guardian bleated. The sheep bleated back.
“Are you alright?” Guardian asked in fluent sheep.
“Oh yes,” the sheep replied. “Plenty of food, very peaceful. But the little girl who fed me turned into a tree one morning. Over there, see?” The sheep turned toward the adjacent tree.
Guardian asked if anything strange happened before that. The sheep crossed its eyes in thought, then blinked and said, “About seven nights before that—there was a laugh in the woods. Like the little girl’s laugh, but… bad.”
“Would you say it sounded like an old evil witch’s laugh?”
“Oh, absolutely,” the sheep nodded. “Very witchy.”
Guardian went pale. The name Morlatha echoed in his mind. Could it be Mother? Panic welled up in his chest as he turned to Sebastian, his horse. In a desperate moment of emotion, he embraced the creature.
“It’s alright, Sir,” said Sebastian gently.
Guardian froze. He had forgotten the spell was still active. With a stunned breath, he asked, “What’s your favourite bread?”
“Seeded loaf, Sir.”
“Please stop calling me Sir.”
“Of course, Guardian… Sir.”
Smiling despite himself, Guardian realised how long he’d neglected asking these questions.
With spirits slightly lifted, the two rejoined their companions.
The Town Hall and The Giant’s Last Walk
Gathered again in the village square, the party shared their findings. Tobias theorized that Timberwood had overstepped its bounds—cut too deeply into the woods and disturbed something ancient. The fey had taken notice.
Recalling the mention of a poem, they turned their attention to the town hall. Inside, while most of the group rummaged through drawers and cabinets, Eldrin strolled the main hall. “Hey, it’s here!” he called. The others hurried over.
A parchment titled The Giant’s Last Walk was affixed to the wall—less a poem, more a riddle threaded with metaphor. With each line deciphered, a path through the forest emerged.
Without hesitation, the group departed, following the poem’s hidden directions. Along the way, the transformation worsened—bark crept further over Thomas and Eldrin’s limbs, and both Tosk and Guardian now radiated a calm, sunlit contentment.
The forest grew denser, but the path remained clear—as if the poem truly held the key. The journey, spanning over ten miles, passed in just three and a half hours.
Eventually, they arrived at a secluded grove dominated by an immense oak tree. Nestled at its base was a moss-covered stone mausoleum.
As they approached, the ground groaned, and from the roots rose a towering, wooden guardian. Before they could react, scores of twig blights burst from the underbrush, surrounding the party in a living ring of thorns.
The forest had revealed its champions. The battle for Timberwood was about to begin.
